


Fight With All Your MIght

by winkonyt



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Depression, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, me projecting on chenle, pls read tags carefully, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-23 01:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30047685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winkonyt/pseuds/winkonyt
Summary: A guttural scream forces its way out of Chenle’s throat. No one seems to hear.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Fight With All Your MIght

A guttural scream forces its way out of Chenle’s throat. No one seems to hear.

The boy gazes at the ceiling, having already memorized every curve and crack and dirt on it’s surface, head lay heavily on his soaked pillow. But he still continues to breathe.

A massive weight weighs his soft fingers down to the mattress, blade stained red clasped between his index and thumb as he delicately strokes it, playing with it, as if it was merely a toy and it was nothing to be afraid of.

He laughs at nothing in particular, a single tear making its way down his scarlet cheek. He laughs harder. _I’ve gone crazy._ He thinks. _Full blown mental._ But he can’t really remember a time in which he wasn’t.

That was a lie.

He remembers being six, first day of 1st grade with his heart on his throat as he scans the classroom filled with unfamiliar faces until it lands on his best friend. He remembers days of playing tag in the parking lot as he waits for their driver to pick him up from his private school. He remembers chocolate ice cream staining his uniform but still laughing nonetheless as the thought of his mother’s scolding gets drowned out by the familiar spring air and the chill of the upcoming finals he knows he’d easily ace either way.

_When did it all go wrong?_

He remembers being seven, rough hands squeezing his waist, soft lips forcefully dancing against his and he didn’t quite understand what any of it meant but they were playing a game on his soft silky bed and he was so much older and wiser and he _trusts_ him and _You lost, Lele, it’s only fair. Hyung will return the favor, I swear._

Chenle hated how he took something so very special from him. Chenle despised how he didn’t really hate it even more.

And oh, when did his tears start pouring down again? His mouth was flooded with a salty tinge and he can’t breathe again and he’s _crying again why is he crying again I can’t breathe anymore please when do the tears run out._

He remembers cold, utter loneliness. End of elementary when he looked up and saw that _oh, he somehow pushed all his friends away._

He was left second guessing every move, distancing himself from crowds and that was when he first learned to pick up a blade. Ten years old and his milky thighs were decorated with slits of red and ribbons of pain.

But he held up. He focused on his studies and his grades that were starting to slip and he notes how no one pays mind at the slight limp in his steps when he cut a little too dip and lost consciousness in their tiled bathroom- alone and cold and naked and miserable and so, _so_ alone. 

But he stuck through it and he focused on something that truly made him happy; The arts. Chenle drew until his knuckles sprouted corns and he wrote until his eyes crossed and he sang till his throat burned raw and he struck through it and it slowly, but truly, got better.

Chenle smiled at the memories of being twelve and dancing ‘til his knees turned to jelly and he laughed so loud he could be heard through the halls and he drew and he wrote and he sang and he freely spoke his thoughts and everyone listened but it wasn’t enough to keep the demons away.

One day he woke up and pushed his friends away as far as he could get without alarming them because he knew deep down that it was only a matter of time before they grew sick and tired of having to care for him, and calming down his panic attacks and holding him close when the tears wouldn’t stop and he didn't even know why he was crying. _How are we supposed to fix it if there's nothing wrong, Lele_? He wanted to apologize for all the pain he’s brought them but he knew it was for the better. Because his friends were lovely people, truly. They deserved to laugh over memes and cry over dramas and not have to take care of their burden of a friend. They deserve to be young and happy and stable and _healthy_.

He paints himself the bad guy before he destroys their relationships like he’s already destroyed himself.

But it wasn’t as easy as that. Because good, kind, smart, funny, pretty, _perfect little lele_ still has to burn down his last candle.

Chenle sat up in his silk bed sheets, staring down at the cold metal between his fingers as he aches and aches and aches and he prays because there’s two letters beneath his pillow; a soliloquy and a goodbye. It terrifies him to his core.

Because he wanted to be normal, truly, he tried. But he can’t make himself become something he knows in his heart he doesn’t deserve. Because he’s dirty and he’s hard to love and he’s a disappointment and he’s broken beyond repair and above all he’s _tired. So, so tired._

He’s fifteen with a dream in his mind, a blade in his palms and a suffocating weight atop his chest.

He thought asking for help would make his problems go away but it didn’t because no one listened. He’s scared and small and weak but no one looks his way because if Chenle is one thing, he is hard to love.

But maybe he’s gotten tired of waiting for someone to come along that understands. Maybe he’s grown tired of himself in a way no child should be able to endure.

A guttural scream forces its way out of Chenle’s throat. No one seems to hear.

But Chenle continues to breathe; dried tears on his cheeks and a faraway dream in his mind. 

He breathes, taking life one step at a time because he’s made it this far, hasn’t he?

  
  



End file.
